


Let Me Help You (Hurt/comfort one shots)

by JoanOfStars



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series), the jacksepticeye cinematic universe
Genre: Drunkenness, F/F, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Other, implied harrassment, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2020-04-05 21:05:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19048396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoanOfStars/pseuds/JoanOfStars
Summary: this is a collection of stuff from my tumblr right now. while i'm taking prompts over there, this is going to be a collection of those, because i like having them all in the same place. that'll change i'm sure since nothing i do in this godforsaken fandom is ever consistent. I can promise that it will be hurt/comfort one shots. enjoy whatever else it ends up being.-Chapter 1: The reader had a bad encounter on a night out, and Dark is there to kill the offending party. Or maybe offering a loving embrace is enough.Chapter 2: Reader has a rough time keeping friends, and starts to wonder if it's something wrong with them.Chapter 3: Anti doesn't approve of you working yourself to death.Chapter 4:(TW)Dark leaves for a week, and returns to find you've hurt yourself.Chapter 5: The reader has depression, and Mark is there to lift them up.





	1. My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: “Where did those bruises come from?”
> 
> The reader had a bad encounter on a night out, and Dark is there to kill the offending party. Or maybe offering a loving embrace is enough.
> 
> This is hella soft Dark. If you've got an issue with that, I will concede that this is probably not canon in any way shape or form, but I enjoy it and this is how the prompt worked out. if you still have a problem, here is the door. you may use it.

It was late. Really late. You’d stumbled home on your own, and only just. In fact, you were lucky you’d made it home in one piece.

None of this was quite registering, however. You dropped haphazardly on the couch and hugged yourself, only now realizing how violently you were shaking.

“(Y/n)?” Dark’s voice came from the door frame. 

You sniffled. “Hi Dark.”

He stepped forward and knelt in front of you, eyes narrowing. “You’re drunk.” He said. “I think you need to get some sleep.”

You nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

“You’re shaking. Are you cold?” His hand brushed your knee and he frowned. His voice dropped to almost a whisper. “(Y/n). Where did those bruises come from?” Dark wrapped an arm around you and guided you to your bedroom.

“It’s- It’s nothing. Just an accident.”

“You can’t lie to me.” He said with no anger. 

It must have been obvious how drunk you were, because Dark helped you with your shoes and socks. You also kicked your pants off, content to fall asleep as you were like that, more grateful for your bed than you’d ever been. 

“There were these guys,” You started. “They- they were hitting on me- kind of- and I guess I provoked them…”

Dark was like ice. Stoic and gentle, but only on the surface. You saw the cold, biting fury in his eyes. “They hurt you?” 

“It- it was kind of an accident,” You said. “It was my fault, too. I was… scared.” You were shaking so bad you were sure he could see it.

“It doesn’t matter. You were hurt.” Dark was becoming hard to look at, like an old VHS tape that didn’t work anymore. You could hear his voice becoming two, and then three, anger weaving into his existence. It wasn’t something you hadn’t seen before, but it was… terrifying. 

“Dark…”

His head snapped to you. There was fear in your eyes and your tone. The colors breaking around him coalesced until he almost looked human again, and he sat by you on the bed. You involuntarily flinched.

His face softened and he slipped your hand into his. “I won’t hurt you, darling.”

“I know.” You said.

“Can you tell me who did this to you?” 

You were silent.

“(Y/n)?”

You took a shaky breath. “I… I don’t want you to hurt them.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t want to know about it, anyway. Can you…” After all this time, you still had trouble asking. He understood nonetheless, crawling into bed next to you. He wrapped his arms around you from the back, pressing you into his bare chest. When had that happened? Your legs were brushing against soft flannel, too. He’d been fully dressed just a minute ago.

“You’re still shaking.” He said. 

You let your heavy eyelids drop. “I’m okay.” You said. Dark pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head and stroked your arm. Whether it was conscious or not, he pulled you as close to him as he could. For the first time that night, you relaxed, and this time, with more conviction: “I’m okay.”


	2. Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader has a rough time keeping friends, and starts to wonder if it's something wrong with them. 
> 
> The prompt was “Why does everyone always leave me?”

To Dark, and the way that he perceived this world, your emotional distress made the air thick, filling the space with a tangible manifestation that he could sense as if there was smoke clouding and obscuring the room. It was obvious from the door when he stepped in the house.

“(Y/n)?”

“They’re gone.” 

He was silent. You were sitting on the floor, back against the wall and knees pulled into your chest. He knelt down in front of you. You were trying not to cry, but it was obvious from the red in your eyes. 

“I don’t understand. I’m doing something wrong. I must be.” You met Dark’s eye, and your voice broke. “What am I doing wrong?”

He cupped your chin in his hands, and when the gesture made the threatening tears fall, he brushed them away with his thumb. 

“How do I make it stop, Dark? Why does everyone always leave me?”

He moved to sit next to you and pulled you into his lap so you were cradled against his chest. “People come and go. It isn’t your fault.”

You wiped your face, embarrassed. “It has to be. This keeps happening. There’s something wrong with me.” 

His grip tightened on you. “Stop that. There’s nothing wrong with you. If they’re leaving you in the dirt like this, they aren’t your friends anyway. You deserve better.”

You huffed a dry laugh, and it was filled with disdain. “I definitely don’t.”

“You’ll easily find better people. This reflects nothing on you.” He said.

Your voice broke on tears again. “It still hurts like hell.”

He rested his head against yours. “I know.”

“Are- are you going to leave?” You asked.

Dark shut his eyes. “No, (Y/n), I’m not going to leave. You’re mine. No one else’s opinion changes that.”

“I won’t be upset if you do.” You whispered. “I want you to be happy.”

He pulled away, holding you at arm’s length. Was that emotion in his face? Sadness? Sympathy? “You think so little of yourself,” He murmured. “I’m not letting go of you, (Y/n). Not for a long time. This is what I want.”

You sniffled. “Promise?”

“I promise.”


	3. Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Antisepticeye x reader
> 
> 2\. “Stop this. You’re just hurting yourself.”

Your eyelids were heavy, and burning with the strain of staring at a screen in pitch dark. Everything in you wanted to give in and sleep, but you had a deadline, and you were absolutely not going to miss it. In all honesty, you could probably ask for an extension and there would be no ill-will, but you were this close, and running purely on spite. Of your superiors or yourself, you weren’t sure. It didn’t matter.

There was a shift in the air, and you felt your hair stand on end. Anti phased into the room with a pop of static and electricity. “(Y/n)? The fuck are you still doin’ up, doll?”

“I’m not in the mood, Anti.” You said.

“Well yeah, it’s four in the mornin’.” He leaned over you to look at what you were working on.

Anti frowned. “You’re doin’ this all tonight? That’s stupid.”

“Anti.” You growled.

He raised an eyebrow. “What’s this about? Go to sleep.”

“I need to get this done.” You said that, but you hadn’t made any progress in a while. It was, as he said, four in the morning, and your brain wasn’t all there at this time of night.

He sighed, probably noticing now that you were serious. And that you were doing this more out of your own stubbornness than a deadline. “Come on. Stop this. You’re just hurting yourself.”

“Will you shut up?” You shouted. Anti probably wasn’t hurt or offended at all, but you instantly felt a pang of guilt. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” You whispered.

“You’re tired as fuck, (Y/n). Go to bed.”

You said nothing. You weren’t going to listen, but you also didn’t want to lash out again.

He rolled his eyes and shut your laptop so you were forced to make eye contact.

“Sleep. This is takin’ a toll on you, and I’m the only one who gets to hurt ya.” He winked suggestively, and you slapped a hand over your face in response, which he took as an opportunity to snatch your laptop.

“You’re a pain in the ass.” You laid back on the bed nonetheless, since your body was absolutely begging for it.

You wouldn’t have moved anyway, but Anti joined you on the bed in a flash of static and hugged you to his chest, cuddling you and holding you captive at the same time. It was the best you could hope for with him.

You yawned, finally giving in. “Will you stay?”

“For a while. If that’s what gets you to sleep.” He said.

“I almost don’t want to.” You mumbled into his chest. “This is kinda nice.”

He was silent for a second. “…Yeah, it kinda is.”


	4. I Already Know You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 11\. “Oh my god, you’re bleeding.” 
> 
> so… not sure where you wanted this to go, but i’m using it as stress relief. and don’t read into that too much. i’m fine.
> 
>  **TW: major depressive thoughts and self harm. seriously.** i probably shouldn’t have written this the way i did. it’s pretty bad. take caution.

Too much.

Everything was too much.

Your skin was itching, and you just couldn’t satisfy it. The last few weeks had been bad, and the worst part was you couldn’t figure out why. You were getting better and things were looking up. And then one day you came home with a pit in your chest, body aching and lethargic. You couldn’t sleep, even though you were tired. You felt isolated, even when you were surrounded by friends. The rest of the week followed suit, and then Dark left. He was gone for some sort of business function. You couldn’t remember. You’d felt alone when he was lying with you. Now you were desolate.

You wanted to say “You can’t leave now, Dark, or I might fall apart at the seams”, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. He was busy.

So you ended up spending the weekend in bed, barely sleeping, barely eating, and itching.

You knew what the problem was, but, like most of your mental issues, you pushed it down and ignored it. Tried to, anyway.

By the next week, Dark was still gone, and you were feeling worse and worse. Your frustration turned sharply inward in the time you were alone in the house, and you were angry. At your brain, for fucking you up again when you thought things were getting better, but also at yourself for being a screw up in general, and all the while, your mind dipped into hopelessness, convincing you that no matter who you convinced yourself you were, nothing was going to fix you.

One morning you woke up from a nightmare and curled in on yourself. Your bedroom was rank, since you’d been in here without a shower for… longer than should be admitted, and you were in a cold sweat.

You rolled over and grabbed your phone from the nightstand, swiping away all of your other notifications so you didn’t have to think about it, and texted Dark. You hated bothering him, but there wasn’t any other option. Yet.

_are you busy?_

He didn’t answer. Made sense. It was six in the morning. He was either asleep, or doing something important, so you shut your eyes, and drifted for a few minutes.

It wasn’t much longer before you woke up, and not having a reply, texted him again.

_Can I call you?_

__

__

…

_Please?_

You stared at your phone for a bit, but he wasn’t going to answer.

Tears cried out, and nothing else to turn to, you forced yourself to your feet, blacking out momentarily, and shuffled to the bathroom.

You never told anyone about your razors. It wasn’t exactly dinner table conversation. Dark should know, and you were aware of this, but regardless of where you were at in your relationship, you were still somewhat… intimidated by him. lt was obvious that he was way out of your league, and you were always half convinced he would drop you on a whim. All of this was just another reason for him not to want you. But you were so alone.

Dark wasn’t here right now.

You sat in the bathtub, and numbly, half dazed from just waking up, pulled your razor blades out of their little black box, and pressed one to your skin.

It had been so long that you’d been expecting to feel nervous, like you did the first time, but you weren’t scared. There was nothing keeping you from this new kind of low at this point.

And you didn’t hesitate.

The first cut was slow. The second was faster. Soon, you were leaving fresh scars over dozens of old, fading ones, not regretting a second of it. You were out of it, half there and half in the clouds, head filled with fog.

When it was over, the itch was satisfied. But after a moment of relief, you felt like shit all over again. Your chest was still hollow and aching, and now you were losing blood because of it.

Frustrated beyond words, you pulled your knees into your chest and started to sob, pathetic and gross.

And that was where Dark found you.

You heard the front door open, and you knew his footfall by now. Immediately, you panicked, and scrambled out of the tub to lock the bathroom door.

You were barely quick enough.

You slid down and sat against it, breath barely coming as you heard him tap the door in a knock.

“(Y/n)? Are you okay?” He said, just loud enough for you to hear through the door.

“I’ll be out in a second,” You threaded your fingers in your hair. Shit, shit, shit. Now what? He was going to find you. He would hate you. He’d leave, and you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself.

“Open the door, please, darling.” He said.

If you were panicky and refused, he would know something’s up.

“(Y/n).” More urgent this time.

You walked away from the bathroom door and dropped to the floor. You were overwhelmed, blood now everywhere, and at this point, you were just about ready to let this happen.

The door opened. You snapped your eyes shut and buried your face in your hands. You heard a hiss from Dark.

“Oh my god.” Dark whispered. You flinched. He knelt down in front of you and pulled your wrist away from your face. “You’re bleeding.” He said, making note of the obvious.

“I’m sorry,” Your voice broke on a sob. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done it, I’ll stop, I promise, I just-”

“Shh, shh.” He hushed you, and you were surprised enough that you stopped, and opened your eyes. Dark was still staring down at your bloody arm, and the look on his face was indecipherable. One hand brushed across it like he was checking that it was real, and not some trick of the light. 

He kissed your mostly clean hand, and went to grab a washcloth from the cabinet. 

“I’m sorry.” You whispered again. You didn’t know what else to do.

Dark sat next to you, damp rag in hand, and pulled you into his arms so that you were sitting in his lap. 

“Dark-”

“Hush now.” He said, meeting your eyes for the first time. “Don’t apologize.” He began to ever so gently, as if he was afraid he might break you, wipe away the blood on your arm and trailing down your hand.

There was silence; a moment in which you almost fell apart. 

He broke it with a whisper. “I didn’t know it was this bad.”

You blinked. He didn’t sound angry. Why wasn’t he angry? He began to wrap gauze around your arm, and you winced. 

One Dark was satisfied with the bandages, he held you closer to his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He murmured. “That you were going to do this? Or that you were hurting so much?” 

Your vision was blurred by tears, and you were doing your best not to turn and sob into his chest. “Because- because you'd hate me; if you knew me like this.”

“Don’t say that. I already know you.” He said.

“I feel so alone. I didn’t want to lose you too.” Dark brushed your tears away with his thumb before you could. 

“I’m here, (Y/n). I’m right here. We’re together. And I want you to tell me everything you can.” He ran his fingers through your matted, greasy hair.”

“But-”

“I won’t be angry. I won’t hurt you, or hate you, or leave. I promise.”

And so you did. You told him about the loneliness, the hopelessness, how it’d all happened so fast, and you were in too deep. You watched the guilt on his face as you told him about when he left, and how much worse everything got in such a short time.

And he didn’t leave. He held you, kissed you when you were crying too hard too talk, and at the end, he squeezed you tight.

“I’m here now.” He said. “Whatever you need to talk about, I’m here to listen. I’m not leaving you like this.”

Dark shifted you on his hip, and started to run a bath.

“Dark?” 

“Little things. I want you to feel like yourself again.” He said. He even dropped a bath bomb in, obscuring the water so you didn’t have to see what was under it. 

He washed your hair, and you dozed off in his arms as he massaged the soap through your scalp, and then you washed the sweat and tears off your face, and you felt refreshed, if not exhausted and drained. 

When you were done, and changed into clean clothes, he took you to the guest bedroom. It may have been nice to be in your bed, but these sheets were clean, and the room smelled of a rose and vanilla candle he’d lit. 

Dark kept you close, and for the first night in a while, you slept at ease.


	5. You Are Loved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's no secret that I'm really just projecting in literally everything I write, so I might as well just _say_ I've been struggling a lot lately. Sometimes it's hard not to feel alone. That doesn't just go for me. 
> 
> The reader has depression, and Mark is there to lift them up. That's the story. They could be a couple, but they could also just have a very close friendship. Can be read either way.
> 
>  **TW:** descriptions of depression such as feelings of hopelessness and references to suicide
> 
> Anyway, enjoy my self insert lmao
> 
> Heist was p cool amirite

Mark always knew how bad it was before you told him. Somehow, out of everyone, he was the person who saw through a fake smile. He was the one who asked you the first time if you were okay, if you needed to talk, and when you denied it, was so caring and sweet that you nearly started crying on the spot. You ended up telling him, then. 

Some days, he didn’t need to try to read you and make sure you weren’t pushing yourself to act okay when you weren’t. Today was one of those days. He was always up far earlier than you, and by the time that you managed to haul yourself out of bed, he was already laying on the couch, fully dressed, working on his laptop. He barely needed to glance at you to know you were hurting more than usual today. Your hair was a disaster from tossing and turning all night, your eyes were hazy and tired, and you hadn’t bothered to get dressed beyond a rejected Cloak hoodie design Mark had given you over a year ago. It was way too big for you, which meant it hid almost everything you hated about your body, and you only wore it when you needed that messed up kind of comfort. 

He set his laptop aside and opened his arms for you. Time and time again he’d reassured you that you never needed to ask permission to touch him or feel bad for asking to be held, but eventually he gave up when he realized that you’d probably never take it to heart. Instead, he adapted, and made it abundantly clear whenever you wanted help that he was there to offer it. Like now.

You shuffled to the couch and practically collapsed into it. Mark maneuvered so he had one arm wrapped around you, holding you to his chest, and another carding his fingers through your hair.

For a while, you stayed like that, the two of you drifting off together. At least you assumed he was drifting off, because his eyes were closed, and soon yours were too. You certainly weren’t going to initiate conversation, and Mark didn’t want to push you. He didn’t completely understand how depression affected you- who could, truly, when it’s so different for each person experiencing it?- but he was great at dealing with it regardless. Never pushing you while at the same time not acting like you were helpless. He may not understand what exactly you’re going through, but he does understand _you._

Eventually, you did speak. “I didn’t mean to make you stop working.” You mumbled.

“You didn’t ‘make me’ do anything. I chose to.” He said. “Do you need anything? Water? Have you eaten lately?” 

You winced.

“I’m not going to be upset.” He assured you.

Still. It was hard to say. “Not since lunch yesterday.” Then, you added quickly, “I was working late, and you weren’t home, and by the time I was done-”

“Hey, hey, it’s fine. It’s okay. I’ll make breakfast later.” He squeezed you. You’d never get used to how calm and collected he was. He’d never yell at you for your less “convenient” symptoms- being unable to force yourself to get basic chores done, failing to recall events like projects you were supposed to be helping with. “Forgetting” to take care of yourself.

“You don’t have to do that.” You said. “I don’t need-” 

“You need to take care of yourself.” He reminded you, and brushed a strand of unkempt hair out of your eyes. “You are worth taking care of.” 

Right. Self care and all that bullshit. He was here to regulate it, even if you didn’t want him to. 

“What are you feeling?” He asked. Both of you, although you significantly less, were fighting to get you to open up, and it was always one small step forward at a time. Sometimes a few large steps backward.

“Hopeless. Like no matter what I change or what new therapist I see or medicine I try, I’m never going to get better.” He said he always wanted to know, but you felt bad for opening up like that, so you looked up at him and added, “I’m thankful that you’re here, though.” 

“I’m thankful that you’re here, too. I hope you’ll stay.” He opened his eyes to smile at you, but there was a sadness behind it that made your heart twist. 

“Of course I’m going to stay.” You said. Then it clicked. “Mark, I would never-”

“I know, I know. I just hope you’ll tell me if it ever gets bad enough that you want to.” He sat up a little further and moved you so that you were wrapped around him like someone might hold a child on their hip, and he held you tight. “And I want you to know that this world is better with you in it, no matter what your brain tells you.” 

You’d be lying if you said you’d never fantasized before, but you didn’t want to think about that right now. You were afraid of where your mind might go if you thought about it too much. So instead you buried your head between Mark’s neck and his collarbone and let him hold you. Maybe you should tell him, even if it doesn’t mean much yet. He cares so much more than you think you deserve.

But you don’t want to imagine where you would be without him.

Eventually, there is a world to face, but for now, this is good enough. To be held- to know that no matter how much it feels like everything is bearing down on you, there is someone to catch you. You are loved.


End file.
